


The Beast of Curengreen Forest

by K_is_for_Kairon



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Autopsy, Bloodhunters are witchers don't @ me, Canon-Typical Violence, Inspired by The Witcher, M/M, Molly's terrible memory, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, Witcher Contracts, fighty stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2020-06-16 10:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19647397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_is_for_Kairon/pseuds/K_is_for_Kairon
Summary: Mollymauk Tealeaf was a bloodhunter. He hunted monsters for a living, traveling across the Dwendalian Empire to make coin from desperate citizens. He was good at his job. A professional.Some monsters, though, were far smarter and more deadly than others.





	1. Rotten Eggs

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work inspired by the Witcher series of books and games. It is not an au set in the Witcher universe, but rather an au that reimagines bloodhunters as more of a job description than a class. I'm sure any Witcher fans can see the inspiration. 
> 
> It is set in the Dwendalian Empire, but some changes have been made to fit the canon of this work.
> 
> I started writing this before I started work on Contracts, and I am now coming back to it for a bit of a break from Contracts. This probably won't update all that often, but it'll be a nice break for me.

They rolled into the village with the morning fog. The farmers, awake long before the sun to care for their sheep and chickens, watched the pair with sidelong stares and tentative hand signs made to ward off evil that their mothers taught them when they were children. Mollymauk Tealeaf was used to this kind of greeting. His horns and tail assured the superstitious commonry of his evil nature long before they learned he was a bloodhunter. He was rarely welcomed with smiles, most often with a combination of relief and fear, like an undertaker or plague doctor; someone unwanted, but necessary.

Molly was sure that his chosen companion of the past two years, the best two years of his life, really did not mind the rude stares. Yasha was invulnerable both to physical harm and to the hateful looks they both drew. A part of him still felt a bit guilty about it. Molly might have deserved it, but Yasha did not. It was easy when the glares were directed at him; they should be wary, they had every right to be cautious and suspicious, they were wise to watch him with their daughters and sons. But Yasha was better than him.

Molly led the way through the village, Yasha at his back. They wove their way down the main road to the local tavern, the only well-kept building apart from the manor at the top of a nearby hillock, that proudly proclaimed itself “The Barrelswine”, and marched in with all the confidence of having done the same in countless inns, taverns, pubs, and taphouses across the Dwendalian Empire.

As Molly swung open the door, after giving Yasha a smile, he was immediately hit with the smell of stale beer, sweat, wood smoke, oil, and maybe a tinge of puke. It was considerably darker in the tavern than out in the foggy morning, and almost stiflingly warm. He made a quick scan of the common room. Cramped. Too many scratched tables shoved too close together. The ceiling was too low, horn chandeliers dangling less than a foot from the tables. Rickety chairs. The floor was compacted dirt, worn stone by the entrance, and scuffed and stained wood near the stairs to the second floor. The fireplace was roaring, the source of the heat, with a twisted and chipped skull of some monster Molly could not identify on its mantle. Near the fireplace sat three Crownsguard, already deep in their cups. Windows, surprisingly clean. On the opposite side, a man slept with his head on the table, his small companion noisily eating breakfast. The bar was a square shape directly in the center of the common room. A middle aged woman, her dark hair done up in a bun, smiled at him and Yasha as they entered.

“Welcome,” she greeted the pair as they approached the bar. Yasha had to duck several times to avoid hanging light fixtures. Her head practically reached the ceiling. “Welcome to the Barrelswine!”

“A pleasure,” came Molly’s practiced response. He made it sound genuine. He leaned against the bar, folded his arms over the newly replaced surface. “I am Mollymauk Tealeaf and this is my charming friend, Yasha.”

“Matilda. What can I get two road-weary travellers?”

Molly looked to Yasha before sliding onto the bench. “An ale for both of us to start.” Matilda nodded. “And if there are any bounties available…” He let his voice trail off.

“Bounty hunters, eh?” Matilda did not seem surprised.

“Ah...of a sorts.” Molly replied. Yasha finally sat beside him.

Matilda produced a bounty letter from below the bar, dropping it in front of them before turning to retrieve their ales. Molly slid the paper around so it was facing up, read the first couple of lines, frowned.

“What does it say?” Yasha asked as she leaned closer. The bench groaned beneath all her dense muscle and bone.

“Uh, it says,” began Molly slowly, returning back to the top of the bounty notice. “It says there's a reward offered of four-hundred and fifty gold pieces. It always worries me when they put that first.” Yasha nodded. “People are going missing. Eight so far. Almost all children. If we're interested, we should meet with the mayor, Durran Cadenthul.”

“Is it a monster?”

“It doesn't say.”

Yasha hummed. Matilda returned with their ale, placing a foaming mug before each of them. Yasha immediately reached for it.

“If you folks are looking to take the job,” offered Matilda. “You'd best hurry. Last night, another group came looking for work. They left this morning.”

“Great,” Molly grumbled as he read over the bounty once more. What a pain. “Where can we find Durran Cadenthul?”

“Usually he's up by the manor.” A wry smile grew across Matilda’s face. “You might be able to talk to him if you can pry his lips from the earl’s backside.” One of the nearby Crownsguard chuckled.

Molly sighed. He ordered a small meal for himself and Yasha - mostly Yasha. Nursed his ale.

Another group.

The last time, he'd had to split the bounty four ways between himself and Yasha and another pair of idiots who hadn't even bothered to haggle with the issuer of the contract. He made thirty gold on that deal, barely enough to cover the cost of the job. He still had that oil to cure petrification strapped to the inside of his coat. Molly did not take chances with cockatrices. If this group was anything like the last, they were amateurs looking to make a quick handful of gold pieces. Fools. This was exactly how more monsters got made. Most undead were once hopeful adventurers; most lycanthropes were once potential heroes now cursed; most fiends fed on the blood and souls of slain clerics and paladins, growing fat and potent and even more arrogant. This is the sort of thing that should be left to professionals.

Once Yasha finished eating, Molly tossed down a few silver coins - far more than what their meal and drinks were worth - and thanked Matilda for her time. As he strode out of the Barrelswine, Yasha close behind, he could not help but stop to give a scratch behind the ears of an orange tabby sitting sentinel beside the door.

  


The manor house loomed proudly over the small village. It dominated the hillock upon which it squated, growing fat on the work and toil and blood and sweat and coin of the commonfolk below. This was always the tricky part. Molly, again, led the way up the rough, cobblestone path to the manor. A pair of Crownsguard stepped out from behind the gate at their approach, one holding out a hand.

“Halt,” she called with practiced authority. “State your name and your business.”

“Mollymauk Tealeaf.” He rested his wrists on his scimitars, at once appearing relaxed and professional - someone comfortable with the weight of his weapons. A smile twisted across his face. And now an attractive swashbuckler. “This is my companion, Yasha. We seek Durran Cadenthul.”

The Crownsguard grunted, seemingly unimpressed. It wasn't working.

“And for what purpose do you seek Durran Cadenthul?” She was already bored with them.

“Ah,” Molly began. “You see, my partner and I, we're hunters. Skilled ones, too, if I might be so bold. We came into town just this morning…”

The Crownsguard cut him off.

“Get on with it! I've little time for long winded vagabonds.”

Molly put his hands up, placating.

“My deepest apologies. The contract to solve the case of the mysterious disappearances. We're here to take that job and make all your problems go away.”

A wry smile twisted its way across the Crownsguard’s face.

“Pity that. Someone's already come and taken that job.”

The second Crownsguard chuckled at Molly and Yasha’s apparent misfortune.

Molly waved a hand dismissively.

“Amateurs, I don't doubt. You see, officer, I am a professional. All I know is hunting monsters, lifting curses, banishing evil spirits.” He returned his hands to the grips of his blades, shifting his weight slightly in just the way he knew the morning light would catch his silvery scars. “I think your mayor can spare some time for us.”

The Crownsguard narrowed her eyes at him, scanning him up and down. Finally she snorted.

“Wait here,” came her barked command. She turned and marched into the manor, the gate slamming shut behind her. The second guard remained, glaring at Molly and Yasha through the iron bars.

Molly and Yasha waited for nearly an hour. The fog by now was long since burned away. Molly reached into his robe, ignoring the nervous twitch of the guard beyond the gate, and pulled out his cards. He shuffled them absently, mostly to keep his hands busy while he waited. Then his mind began to wander. What was this Durran Cadenthul like? Would he be fair with them? Unlikely. Peasants were far more likely to be fair and honest than the nobility. Was Durran Cadenthul even nobility? Or was he, as Matilda had said, simply a kiss-ass that the local lord liked to keep around? And these amateurs that came here before him and Yasha, what of them? They could be another group of blood hunters, though Molly never knew many of his ilk to travel in groups. He was unusual in that he always had Yasha with him. Blood hunters almost always acted alone.

“Oi, devil!” A nasally voice brought Molly out of his reverie. He turned, replacing his cards in his robe, to see a dwarf shooting daggers at him from beyond the gate.

Molly put on his best friendly smile, trying to mask the irritation and apprehension of being called “devil.”

“You must be Durran Cadenthul,” Molly began jovially. “I am Mollymauk Tealeaf and this is my partner, Yasha.”

The dwarf huffed and planted his fists on his hips.

“Don't care who ye are, devil. Olanna here tells me yer looking fer th’job I posted. Too bad for ye lot, then, that someones else’s come t’take it, eh? I ain't one to break a deal once made, so yer shite outta luck.”

“Are you so sure this other group will complete the task?” Molly asked the dwarf, moving closer to the gate. “What if they fail? Do you have a back-up plan? I ask you, Durran Cadenthul, what would be the harm in having a little insurance? Yasha and I are professionals…”

“I know what ye are,” the dwarf interrupted him. “Devil.” Molly was quickly growing tired of that accusation; his tail flicked angrily. “Only thing worse than a damned devil is a damned devil and a damned bloodhunter as well.”

“Then you certainly must understand the value of someone like me,” Molly said. “I'm a professional.”

“Look, I don't want no more devils in my village.”

“Then let's make a deal, dear Durran, and I will be on my way. As soon as the job is completed, I'll collect my reward from you, and then you'll never see my beautiful face again.”

“Fine then. Ye’ve my permission t’pursue the contract. The reward stands as it is. Ain't about to change it for you lot, ‘specially not a devil.”

Molly forced himself to smile. “Certainly.” He paused. “I'll need something to go on so can I track this down. Just some place to start. Maybe a bit of information from you if you can spare it?”

“Here be the problem, devil...”

“My name is Mollymauk.” His smile vanished.

“I don't wanna talk to you no more, _devil_. Go down innatown and find some old man named Thren. His son gone missin’ last week. Don't come back till ye’ve finished yer job, eh?” The dwarf turned and stomped back inside.

“Fine.” Molly whirled around and angrily marched back into the village.

“What an ass,” Yasha said. “I used to hit people like him until their teeth came out. Then I'd pick them up and show it to them whenever they made me mad.”

“What do you mean?” Molly asked. “You still do that.”

“Oh, you're right.”

Molly laughed. She was always so good at putting him back into his proper mood.

Thren’s farmhouse was on the outskirts of the village, close to the wood. Angry, strutting geese harangued Molly and Yasha on their path through Thren’s land. Weeds had overgrown the path. They choked up the garden, hindering the nervously clucking chickens. No one worked the gardens or tended the chickens and geese. The roof of Thren’s farmhouse sagged, the crooked door slightly ajar, the window frames slanted and empty. Molly could spy a candle flame flickering within.

He stopped before the doorway, Yasha glancing around the property behind him. He rapped his bare knuckles against the door frame.

“Thren?” No reply. Molly raised his voice. “Thren?”

When again they were met with silence, Yasha turned to face Molly. He shrugged.

“Maybe he's gone out?” Yasha offered.

“No one would leave a candle burning unattended.” He pointed upward to the well-weathered thatch roof.

“I'll check the back,” came Yasha’s reply.

Her hand moved behind over her shoulder to loosen the massive sword in its sheath, just in case. Molly wasted no time. He stepped around to the window and peered inside. There was a shout of surprise. A flash of something dark. A loud crack as a stoneware mug bounced off his horn and then vanished into the weeds. Pain bloomed across Molly’s skull where his horn met his scalp.

“Get out! Get out, fiend!”

“Is this how you greet guests?” Molly snarled, a poor attempt to mask the pain with humor.

He looked up to see a man, worn and tired and filthy, staring at him in shock. The man sputtered uselessly, his hand gripping a dented knife.

“I take it you're Thren.” Molly fought to keep his voice level. He could hear Yasha’s heavy footfalls as she rushed back around to the front. “I've been looking for you.”

Thren blinked at him.

“How d’you know me, and who are you?”

“Durran Cadenthul sent me here. I am Mollymauk Tealeaf and my partner, Yasha, should be arriving shortly.”

“I told Durran I didn't want to talk to no one,” growled Thren. “And he sends you and them assholes yesterday. Think I like talking about my dead boy? No! Get out!”

“Thren,” began Molly gently. Yasha stood off to the side, just out of sight of the window with her blade drawn. “If you can tell me anything, even it's small, it'll at least give me somewhere to start and then I can make sure this doesn't happen to anyone else in your village.”

Thren looked at Molly in silence for a long moment.

“What are you anyway?” he asked Molly. His hand still gripped the knife. “I don't mean because of your horns, I know what a tiefling is. I mean...are you a ranger? A paladin?”

Molly smiled.

“I hunt monsters as my main source of income, Thren. I'm an expert monster hunter, in fact, a professional. Not a ranger, nor a paladin, but someone who isn't afraid to shed my own blood.”

Realization dawned on Thren’s face. He cleared his throat and pushed his dirty hair out of his face before coming to the door. He pushed it open the rest of the way, placing his knife on the table near the door.

“Come in then,” he said. “Your friend can come too.”

Molly smiled at Yasha. She slid her sword back into its sheath and followed Molly inside. Thren started when he saw her.

“Y-your friend,” he stuttered. “Uh...don't know if I got any chairs she can fit in.”

“I'll stand,” Yasha stated. She folded her arms across her chest.

Thren cleared his throat once more. He beckoned Molly and led him across the small room to a table covered in rotting food.

“Sorry about the state,” he muttered. “Haven't been well lately. And sorry about throwing that mug at you. I just...I haven't been right since my Henrik…”

Thren took a breath. He cleared the table, tossing the garbage and rotting food out the back window, and pulled a bottle of wine off the mantle along with three cups.

“Have a seat, please.”

Molly obeyed. The chair creaked noisily beneath his weight. Thren poured each of them a cup of wine, nervously handed one to Yasha first, then to Molly, then sat across from Molly with his own cup.

“Henrik,” began Molly once Thren was seated and had already begun to drink. “That your son’s name?”

Thren nodded and sighed sadly. “Aye. Named him for my wife's father. He were a good boy, good and strong, always helped with the chickens and the geese without me asking. He would've made a good husband for a good wife one day, and a good father, too.”

Thren paused to finish his drink, poured another, and then continued.

“S’pose you'll be wanting to hear about the monster.”

“Take your time, Thren,” Molly said.

Yasha put her cup down heavily in front of Thren. He obliged.

“I just want this over with.” Thren sighed. “It ain't the same without me boy here. We only had each other, ya know?”

Another pause.

A long one.

“It happened last week, not five days ago. We was out in the morning looking for cloudberries not an hour out from the house. They always grow there this time of year. I get as many as I can and bring them down to Matilda and she brews them into delicious wine. Best wine you'll have this side of the Empire. Everyone's brewing beers so much they forgot how good wine from berries can be.

“We were picking berries when I saw the thing. Henrik bent down in the patch, filling his pail. I look up and seen this monster.” Thren gasped. His gaze was far away. “It be a wolf, I thought. A big wolf! But nay. No damned wolf here nor in the Abyss got a face like this creature. It looked like a man, but all wrong and twisted up, teeth coming up all out of its mouth like a bramble patch. I called out to me boy and the thing, I swear by the Dawnfather, this hellborn thing grinned at me. It come barreling through the field, all fours like a wolf but galloping like a horse I swears! I rush out to grab Henrik. He's screaming.”

Thren poured himself a third glass with a shaky hand. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“The beast got him.” His voice cracked. “It grabbed me boy up in its toothy-mouth. There was blood and screaming. I took me knife and tried to stab it, but it done nothing, and the beast were already running back into the woods. I tried to chase it, I swears I did, but this thing were faster than anything I ever see'd.

“When I lost track of it, I come back to the village and rounded up some men. The Crownsguard come too, Olanna and the others. But we couldn't find it. Just a mess of goblins.”

Thren poured himself a fourth cup, Yasha a third, and sat for a long while staring at the cup. He put his hands up over his face and weeped. Molly hated this part. He waited for several minutes for Thren to recover, but when it became clear he wouldn't, Molly cleared his throat.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about this beast?” He asked Thren. “Anything at all. Any weird smells? Did it seem alive or made up of dead parts? What color were its eyes? Did it say anything?”

Thren shook his head.

“Nay. Just a wolf with a man's face.” He paused. “Wait. There _were_ something else. Rotten eggs I smelled, right afore it showed up in the field. It's how I followed it for so long through the wood. Rotten eggs!”

“Rotten eggs,” repeated Molly thoughtfully.

_Brimstone._

Shit.


	2. The Hunt Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all about the length between updates. Life gets in the way of things all the time.
> 
> There's an autopsy near the end of this chapter, hence the rating update.
> 
> Special thanks to Mar and Limey for taking a look at this ages ago.

The Curengreen Forest was massive. It stretched around the southern horns of the Curios Mountains from Trostenwald to Deostok, cloaking the territory in threateningly wild woodland. Molly knew it well...that is to say, he knew it  _ well enough _ . For the better part of the past year and a few months, Molly had been hunting in the Curengreen Forest with Yasha at his side. They’d made a decent amount of coin together. Not enough coin to live like royalty, but certainly enough to fund further hunts and occasionally treat themselves to some good food and drink, and even a bit of company. Molly figured he knew just about every creature that lived in Curengreen Forest. Goblins, for example, were common enough that he’d picked up a handful of words in their gibbering language.

That was how Molly knew it was strange for cloudberries to be growing in the region. He’d never seen them before. Part of him was sure Thren was using a colloquial term for something more common -- like raspberries or something. But here they were, little lumpy bursts of gold in a field of green at the edge of the shrouded wood. He had a strange feeling these shouldn’t be here.

“The wind’s howling,” announced Yasha. The wind would make it difficult to hear, especially with the way it savagely tore at the branches of the trees and whipped around Molly’s long hair and coat.

“This is not exactly my area of expertise.” Molly muttered as he quickly tied back his hair. “If it was a ghost or something I'd be better prepared. But this is something else.  _ Rotten eggs _ he said.”

“You keep saying that,” replied Yasha as she was digging around beneath the foliage. If they could find a trail, Molly could track it. “Why does ‘rotten eggs’ worry you so much?” 

“Brimstone. It usually is some kind of sign of a fiend or other such denizen of the Lower Planes,” Molly explained. “It could also explain why Thren’s knife did fuck all. Ah...the problem, though, is that I don't exactly have the experience to deal with things like that.” He couldn't admit to her that he was afraid. One of his first memories was the smell of sulphur. Yasha looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Haha, I know,” came Molly's dry response to her expression. “It's very funny. Please, laugh at my ineptitude.”

“I was not laughing. You are usually very brave.” She returned to her task. “What are cloudberries anyway?”

Molly shrugged. They looked like misshapen testicles to him, but maybe someone without such a dirty mind might think they were cute little golden clouds. He was tempted to eat one.

“Hey, Molly,” said Yasha, rising to her feet. “It's that cat again.”

Molly looked to where she pointed. Sure enough, an orange tabby sat near the edge of the field, watching them with blue eyes. It had been following them all day, tracking them through the village and out to Thren’s farmhouse, and now apparently here.

“I think he likes me,” said Molly with a smile. “Hey, tabby, do you know anything about what happened here?”

The cat just stared.

“Well, what good are you?”

“Don't yell at it,” scolded Yasha. She pressed something into Molly's hand. “I found some hair.”

Molly examined the clump of hair against his lavender hand. He had no idea what in the Nine Hells he was looking at. He examined the texture and color of the hairs between his fingers. It was brown and bristly and coarse. It was similar to bear fur, but...he sniffed it. It smelled faintly of sulphur and blood and a bit of sweat. He frowned. This wasn’t a wolf, clearly. Unlikely to be some kind of lycanthrope, although he’d never hunted one and quite frankly wasn’t looking forward to that possibility. He knew enough about lycanthropes from Gustav’s teachings and from forcing himself to read even though it was hard to know that lycanthropes didn’t often smell like sulphur. This was strange. This hair, for it clearly wasn’t fur as the texture was all wrong, didn’t belong to anything Molly was familiar with. This was something he’d never hunted before.

“This  _ must _ be a fiend,” he muttered.

“There are no other tracks.”

Molly hummed thoughtfully. He was suddenly struck with how stupid this all was. They did not even know what they were up against, did not even have a name for this creature. Ornna would shout at him and twist his ear for being unprepared. As a bloodhunter, to be unprepared is to die. Two-hundred and twenty-five gold pieces, though, that was a lot. It would make up for all of the shit jobs of the past few weeks...but, then again, if this was a fiend they were after, which seemed very likely, would it be worth it for their lives? If he should lose Yasha, the gold would certainly not be worth it. And for him, two years was not nearly enough time. There was so much more to Exandria that he had yet to see, so much he had yet to do and experience. He put the hair in a pouch on his belt and looked up to the treeline as it was torn by the wild wind. No, he couldn't leave. These people were depending on him now. The thing was somewhere out there. He could imagine a grinning set of jaws glistening with blood and saliva; a set of yellow eyes hungrily eyeing them from within the trees.

“What do you want to do?” Yasha asked him. She was tense.

“It’s been five days,” began Molly. “It’s gotta be hungry, right?”

Yasha followed his gaze to the forest. “You want to wait for it.”

“No, but that’s what we’re going to do.”

* * *

Molly was sitting along the edge of the field facing the woodland. Behind him was the thinner stretch of trees where the forest had been harvested for wood just on the outskirts of the village. It was nearly stripped bare -- a handful of trees too young to be harvested were all that remained of this section of the forest, aside from an intimidatingly large oak tree that Molly knew was covered in symbols carved by the farmers in honor of the Wild Mother. Beside him was Yasha, her sword across her knees. The longer Molly sat here, the more he was convinced this was the beast’s chosen entrance to the village. It was well shrouded enough by foliage and overgrowth that the thing could hide, but clear enough that it could see well into the village. It was practically a straight shot from the trails leading into the village farmland and back into this little field through to the dense woods. And that giant, oak tree would be excellent sight-blocking for the monster as it returned to its home. Molly could guess this thing was picking off wandering children, easy prey, in the farmland before it would vanish into the woods. He had no doubt that this thing would soon graduate to larger prey -- monsters always did. Soon it would be dragging down sick or elderly adults and then, after that, healthy adults. Then this thing, whatever it was, would be the apex predator of this stretch of Curen Green Forest. As horrible as it sounded to Molly, he probably came at the right time to this village. It could be taking risks at this point, looking for larger prey as it gained strength and confidence. If he was right, he could kill this thing before it got too fat and too strong. He could kill it before it killed any Crownsguard or unskilled hunters.

They waited for hours. The shrouded moons crept along the sky behind the veil of clouds. Their thin, silvery fingers barely illuminated the forest, leaving much of it in shadow. But Molly was well-adjusted and adapted to the darkness, and not just from the benefit of his tiefling heritage. He was trained to pick out motion, scent, and sound at night and in near-complete darkness. So it was no surprise when he heard the night fall silent. It wasn’t abrupt. The silence came slowly. First, the distant hoot of an owl stopped. Then, the haunting cries of foxes. And then the other nocturnal dwellers of the wood all went silent. There was no distant rustling of branches, grass, or leaves. Nothing stirred in Curen Green Forest. Cutting off all other senses, Molly pricked his ears and closed his eyes. He kept as still as the woods, stirred only by the occasional gust of wind. He listened. He could hear Yasha breathing steadily beside him. She hadn’t noticed the uncharacteristic silence. She also hadn’t heard the snap of a twig. There was something here. Molly’s ears twisted in the direction of the sound, straining to listen, to pick up anything. There was a barely audible rustle moving towards them.

Molly’s eyes snapped open and he nudged Yasha with his elbow. He pressed a finger to his own lips to keep her silent, but otherwise kept still. Her hands tightened around her sword and her muscles tensed. The thing barely made a sound as it crept closer. Molly only just make out the sound of its disturbance in the forest, as it stalked through the trees barely louder than the whisper of the wind. Still, he could track its movement. The nearly quiet crunch and rustle moved toward them steadily, slowly, inevitable. It was coming to the edge of the wood on the opposite end of the field.

Then it stopped. Something was there. Molly could see the blurry edges of the thing’s shadow-shape along the treeline. He watched it. Waited. It did the same to him from across the field. Its hulking, formless shape was unmoving as it watched him just as he watched it. Molly heard Yasha’s quiet gasp when she spotted it. The shape twitched. Then it darted into the woods. Molly leapt to his feet, Yasha beside him. He heard it shooting through the trees, just beyond sight, toward the village. Molly darted along the edge of the woods, trying to cut it off. But it was fast! This thing rushed with blinding speed through the forest. Molly could hear the tree branches and twigs snapping around it as it galloped. It cut ahead of him and then he and Yasha were chasing it. They ran down to the small trails back to the farmland’s edge. The wheat was rustling with the monster’s movement. Molly only took a moment to mark how large it clearly was before running along the outer edge of the farm, following the chaotic, swaying motion of the wheat. It was moving toward the village! Molly had to catch it.

There was a spark. Something arcane.  _ Fuck! _ Everything fell to silence. The wheat stopped swaying. Molly lost track of the beast.

“Fuck,” he snarled. This thing could cast spells!

“Where did it go?” Yasha asked. She held her blade over her shoulder, ready to swing.

“We have to warn them,” Molly told her. He continued his mad dash to the village. He stumbled to a stop at the first farmhouse he came and knocked furiously at the door frame. “Get up! Get a weapon!” He didn’t wait for them to answer, continued on to the next house --  _ it was so far away! _ \-- and did the same there. Screams erupted in the distance. Molly rushed toward it. “Wake up!”

The screaming was overlapped by an echoing laugh. It was coming from a farmhouse nestled in the fields of wheat. This time, Molly didn’t hesitate before diving into the wheat. Yasha shouted after him. Molly rushed blindly through the wheat toward the laughter and the screaming that was quickly becoming a desperate gurgle. He heard a gasp as he closed the distance, the crunch of bone and wet ripping of flesh, and then silence. Molly burst through the wheat and nearly stumbled on the uneven stonework that lined a garden beside the farmhouse. The door was broken open, swinging drunkenly on its hinges. Within the farmhouse flickered a candle. Molly could smell blood and rotten eggs. Searching desperately for any sound, his ears swiveled and twitched, but there was nothing. Nothing aside from the creak of the broken door, the village waking up in a panic, and Yasha as she came to a stop beside him. Molly saw the shadow of a hulking form moving within the house. He darted to the open doorway. Yasha followed. Another spark and snap of arcane energy.

“No,” shouted Molly. He threw himself through the doorway just in time to see a glowing, bluish door shut within the farmhouse before it vanished with a pop. “Fucking hells!” He spun around, Yasha mirroring his movements as he quickly searched for the beast.

There was no sign of it. The beast was gone.

* * *

“Fat lot of good you done so far,” muttered a halfling woman standing outside the farmhouse. “Thing’s killin’ with impunity and you bumblin’ round here.”

Yasha rose to her feet and Molly could clearly imagine the glare she was shooting at the woman. It was morning. The village was in a panic. This was the first time the creature had directly attacked and killed someone within the bounds of the village. And also the first time it brought down a healthy adult. Molly was examining the corpse of the farmer, trying to glean any kind of information he could from it before the villagers burned it. None of them had told him they would, but Molly knew small villages on the edges of the wilderness well enough to know that they often burned the dead. Especially if they were slain by monsters. It was just safer that way.

The farmer was, from all appearances, a healthy, human adult. Male. Well-muscled from wrangling the pair of oxen that Molly had spotted in the nearby barn. In his hand was the snapped end of a pitchfork, the head stuck through the wattle and daub at the complete opposite side of the one-room farmhouse. The farmer had fought hard. His nails were broken, along with some of his fingers and both bones in his left forearm. He’d fought hard and it had meant nothing. He was split open like a rotten pumpkin from just below his navel all the way up through his sternum to his clavicle. The smell was horrendous. Death and piss and shit. Molly disliked this part. He removed his coat and handed it off to Yasha, and then rolled up his sleeves.

“What’re you doin?” The halfling woman shouted at him as he began to dig through the farmer’s split corpse.

“I need,” growled Molly through gritted teeth. “To see what organs are still here.”

“You don’t have to watch.” Yasha told the halfling.

The stench was always so much worse once Molly had put his hands in a corpse. It was almost like he was offending the body somehow. He moved aside the shredded skin, flesh, and fat. Most of the muscle in the farmer’s abdomen and pectorals were completely torn apart with what seemed to be claws, while there were definite teeth marks on the interior walls of the corpse. Liver was missing. So was the spleen. And the kidneys. Then he bent back the snapped ribs and cracked sternum. The heart was gone as well. Stomach and lungs were still there. From what Molly could surmise, the beast had ripped the farmer open with its paws -- or, perhaps, hands -- and then dove in with its jaw to pluck out its prize. It specifically went for organs that were high in fat and iron. Organs that were also important to alchemy and as spell components. Interesting. This was a predator with a discerning taste.

Its feeding pattern wasn't necessarily unusual, but it told Molly a lot. It wanted organs -- offal. It had avoided the meat of the farmer's thighs and most of the gut. That could simply be because the monster did not have enough time to completely consume the corpse, but it was notable that it went directly into the center of the farmer's body cavity with practiced precision.

Molly turned to the halfling woman. Her face was pale, but still she watched him. “What was his name?”

Her head jerked up suddenly. She stammered, “Uh, his name? His be-err it were Oswald. Not married. No children. Just his oxen.”

Molly looked back down at Oswald. “Poor bastard.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Crunchy and Mar for the beta!


End file.
